


Different: The Boarding School Experience

by MidnightsVioletHaze



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Not Canon Compliant, OC is basically Sebastian before Sebastian existed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightsVioletHaze/pseuds/MidnightsVioletHaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more to school than show choir and bullies and Kurt's getting to experience it all. This is Kurt's time at Dalton beyond Blaine and the Warblers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different: The Boarding School Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Original Song, so obviously AU. Especially Blaine, who didn't have too much of a personality at that point so I gave him one and now he is practically an OC.
> 
> I just wanted Kurt to actually enjoy boarding school, dammit! And don't even try to tell me Dalton wasn't a boarding school because that makes no damn sense.

Dalton is…different from McKinley. And Kurt’s going to have to get used to it.

The first Warblers’ meeting is a complete disaster and it goes downhill from there. There’s a council and bird traditions and it’s all so formal; nothing like New Directions. It’s not until a few weeks, in which he notices very frequently that he never really sees any Warblers together outside of rehearsal, that he realizes the one huge difference between the Warblers and New Directions: the Warblers are a team where every member does his part, but New Directions were _friends_.

He mentions this to Blaine one day as they go through new sheet music. Blaine actually stops feverishly marking up the score to shoot him an incredulous look.

“The Warblers was not made for _socializing_ ,” he says, sounding downright scandalized, “It’s an incredibly prestigious group that’s won numerous a capella competitions for over fifty years! It’s something you put down on your University transcript! It’s very exclusive and people join for its reputation and for the music, but definitely not _to mak_ _e_ _friends_. There are other more appropriate ways to do that, like joining a sport or something.” 

So that pretty much explains the uptight behavior that every Warbler exhibits – and, yes, Kurt had definitely found that the uptightness is a Warbler thing, not a Dalton thing. It also explains why they lack the ‘show’ part of show choir: it’s their first time “dabbling in such a thing”, as Blaine put it. 

Kurt quickly realizes that while The Dalton Academy Warblers will satisfy his musical needs, though barely, that’s all it has to offer.

* * *

 

It takes a few weeks for it to hit Kurt, but there are other things to school than choir. At McKinley, Glee was the only thing he had to look forward to, but, as previously established, Dalton is nothing like McKinley. For the first time in his life, Kurt actually gets into this whole ‘school’ thing. 

He joins clubs: Debate Team, Theatre, the GSA and International Club. 

He volunteers: Cancer Society, MADD and the Trevor Project. 

He even willingly tries sports: Tennis, Swim team, Soccer and Football – for himself this time. 

He makes friends whom he can talk to in the hallways and eat with in the cafeteria without fear of being slushied. Better yet, all these new friends are males whom he slowly realizes that he can joke around with and touch casually and hang out in their rooms alone sitting on their bed and nobody gets awkward or uncomfortable around him. 

Jeremy from Debate slings an arm around his shoulder, Terry from Swim Team fist bumps him, Lawrence, his roommate, tackles him while he’s sleeping and then just lies there laughing while Kurt berates him for ten minutes straight. 

This is how Kurt finds himself playing Guitar Hero in the common room with a bunch of guys from Theatre and Football, having prank wars with the rest of the boarders in his hall and just generally being a guy. 

It’s…refreshing. 

One of the main reasons that Kurt insisted on being an honorary girl – other than the shared interests – is that he was never really allowed to be one of the guys, not even in grade school before he really started acting and dressing flamboyantly. 

_ “Go play dollies with the other girls!”  _

He still likes gossip and vogue and manicures, but it turns out that he likes video game and rowdiness as well. People at McKinley - and Lima in general - are so heteronormative and somehow Dalton manages to be this floating Island of acceptance despite the sea of archaic social customs that surrounds it. Kurt is reminded of that time he caught Tina playing a video game and she acted so ashamed of it, as if it was something that she wasn't allowed to do, as if it was something that had to be kept a secret. Or how Mike Chang hid his incredible dancing talent for so long because it wasn't regarded as the epitome of masculinity. Being able, no, _encouraged_ to explore these other activities...it’s strange and surprising and a whole new side to himself, but Kurt’s kind of okay with it.

* * *

 

Kurt is in love with Blaine. Eloquent Blaine, intelligent Blaine, well-mannered and polished Blaine. Blaine who stopped him from giving up and losing hope, who was the first boy to reach out and touch him like it was something natural and easy, who introduced him to a world where Kurt doesn't have to be the token gay kid, who introduced him to Dalton. 

Being at the same school now, as well as boarding across the hall from each other, ensures that Kurt can be around Blaine pretty much twenty four hours a day and Kurt kind of loves that. Blaine wakes him up every morning with a latte in hand and says a proper goodnight, with a wish for sweet dreams included, every night before curfew in adorable plaid pajamas. He lets Kurt switch him to organic hair gel and coax him into expanding his wardrobe past the Dalton uniform and in turn he convinces Kurt to sit through a Buckeyes game. When school’s busy and homework is stacking up Blaine asks Kurt to read through his essays and Kurt asks Blaine to look at his Calculus work sheets. On lazy afternoons they lie on Blaine’s dorm room floor, going through his collection of classical records while discussing politics (Blaine) and tearing apart the results of the latest awards show (Kurt). 

Kurt is in love with Blaine, really he is. Until one day he just kind of isn't anymore. 

Sometime between the first time Blaine met Kurt at his door in the morning and the first time they fell asleep together listening to Bach they've become best friends and Kurt can’t imagine them as anything else. The fact that Blaine serenaded some guy he’d never even bothered to mention to Kurt on Valentine’s Day helped kill that crush. Not to mention that said guy worked at Gap – Kurt seriously considered bathing in Chanel’s _Allure_ to cleanse himself of the secondhand tackiness. And then Blaine’s venture into bisexuality with Rachel had sealed the deal, so to speak. Although they were now friends, Kurt’s found that as soon as anyone has had contact with Rachel Berry’s lips they became immediately unappealing to him. 

Despite what Mercedes says, Kurt would like to think that his feelings for Blaine were more than just a result of him being the first openly gay guy Kurt had ever met. Sure, Kurt now realized that his crush was completely misguided, but his feelings had been real, just not as strong as he’d thought. 

“Really,” Blaine says, scrolling through Kurt’s i-pod as he lounges on the padded chair at the desk in Kurt’s room, “A woman that calls her fans ‘Little Monsters’?” 

Kurt immediately tosses a pillow at the other boy from his bed, smiling, not despite Blaine’s natural condescension but _because_ of it. “Why don’t you go back to your own room for some private time with Vivaldi and your right hand?” 

Blaine splutters at this, his gentlemanly – and a touch snobby – personality receding for a few seconds as it does when Kurt manages to shock him out of it. And Kurt laughs, because he really does love Blaine; he’s one of his best friends. 

But he’s not _in love_ with him anymore.

* * *

 

Classes at Dalton are actually challenging. Even the classes that Kurt had usually excelled in were requiring actual effort. As such, Kurt finds himself becoming very well acquainted with the impressive academy library. He’s grateful for the elegant décor because that’s the only thing keeping him sane when the dusty, old encyclopedia volumes dirty his clothes. 

French and English are the only subjects Kurt is able to breeze through. In fact, after his first French class Madame Tremblay had asked him to stay after the bell. Worried that he had been a little too enthusiastic in his ramblings about Hector Berlioz and that she was going to berate him for interrupting her study plan like Mrs. Crawford at McKinley often had, Kurt was floored when instead she had grasped his hand warmly and commended him on his speaking. The next day he had been called down to the main office to receive a revised schedule with Grade 12 AP French replacing his Grade 11 class. Introducing himself – in French, naturally – in front of an intimidating group of seniors is nerve wracking, but by the time he’s finished they’re looking at him with something like respect. 

It’s nice. 

An ice-blond boy in the middle row flags him down, insisting that Kurt sit beside him and become his new partner for everything French because Kurt is the only boy that can speak the language at an acceptable level. His hand is warm against Kurt’s arm as he introduces himself as Jean Rosseau, an international student from France that only decided to take this class as an easy-A, but who is now regretting it as he has to listen to his mother tongue be destroyed three hours a week. 

This is nicer. 

It’s not long before Jean starts hanging around Kurt outside of class as well. 

“You’re the only person here that pronounces my name properly and not like that hideously common English name, _John_ ,” Jean sneers the offending name in disgust when Kurt questions his presence after the boy had plopped down next to him in the library one afternoon. 

“Jean is a pretty stereotypical French name too, you know,” Kurt points out because he never holds back, not even when it comes to his best friend’s fashion choices (she really _did_ look like a technicolour zebra). 

Jean sends him a deadly glare and then proceeds to drag him outside and volunteer them both for a violent game of soccer. By the end of it, Kurt’s uniform is thoroughly soiled by mud and grass and his Alexander McQueen scarf is unsalvageable. He’s all set to never speak to the French asshole again, but then Jean helps him pick out stray bits of grass and dead leaves from his hair as if to say they’re even now. 

That’s how Kurt realizes that he can, in fact, both dish it out _and_ take it. 

“This is a very good thing,” Rachel says on the phone, managing to sound obnoxious even over the airwaves. “When we’re out in the real world we’re going to have to face constructive criticism and take it as just that: constructive. I for one have always had the ability to do such, it comes with being born a star, but as your friend I am happy that you are learning skills that will help your future career.”  Kurt has to roll his eyes at this because along with constructive criticism, competition is also something Rachel will have to deal with in the ‘real world’ and the last time that happened, someone ended up at a crack house. 

At the very least this means that he’s better than Santana, according to Mercedes. “It doesn't make it _okay_ that you’re a bitch,” she says, “but it makes it acceptable.” 

“ _Please_ , you love my bitchiness,” he tells her as he files a slightly uneven nail. 

“You know I do, baby. My boy is _fierce_. I’m just talking in the grand scheme of things. Ethics, you know.” 

In any case, Mercedes approves of Jean due to his delightfully executed revenge without any overkill. 

_That’s_ how Jean ends up becoming a permanent fixture in his life – Blaine blinks a few times, but is too gentlemanly to say anything.

* * *

 

Kurt really thinks that people should come with some kind of sexuality disclaimer. 

As a rule, he dislikes labels as the commoners of McKinley had taken perverse joy in slapping them on him (fag, girly boy, gleek, loser, tranny, homo, etc.), but he has to admit it would have helped him avoid some very awkward situations, see: trying to coax some bisexuality out of Finn Hudson, star quarterback or being misled by the crude dye job of Sam Evans, also star quarterback at some point (Kurt doesn't really pay attention to the happenings of McKinley’s football team). 

Another such situation happens when the Warblers are discussing Prom for the senior members – not for anything as informal as fun or gossip, non-existent God forbid, but to consider the best seating plan that will allow optimal access to the stage for their scheduled performance while not isolating themselves and their dates from the rest of the attendees. David casually mentions his date George and Kurt bursts out with a rather outrageous “WHAT!?” in reaction. 

The Warblers are not impressed. Kurt loses even more favour. 

“You could have warned me,” he hisses at Blaine later in the privacy of the dorms. 

Blaine furrows his brows charmingly. “It’s not really something you bring up in casual conversation. ‘Oh, by the way, David is pansexual’ – is that what you expected me to say?” 

“Well, no” Kurt concedes, blushing, “But the first time we met you said he was straight. 

“I said he had a girlfriend, which was true at the time. That doesn't mean he’s straight. You of all people should know better to make assumptions about sexuality.” When Kurt frowns, abashed, Blaine adds, “Sorry, I forget sometimes that you’re used to being in such a toxic environment where straight is the default – and only acceptable – setting. You’re going to have to get used to seeing everyone as a blank slate until they've actually confirmed anything.” 

When Jean is kicking a soccer ball around, unashamedly trying to invite himself along to a movie outing Blaine and Kurt had planned, Kurt barely bats an eyelash when one of his points is that “You can’t really exclude me from an opportunity to ogle Johnny Depp can you? That’s too cruel.” 

Kurt just scoffs from his seat on the last row of the bleachers, lifting his feet quickly enough to avoid a scuff mark from the soccer ball Jean passed to him in a failed attempt to make him participate in the sport. “I’ve never understood the hype around that man. He’s much too scruffy for my taste.” 

This turns to a debate about the ‘hotness’ of various male celebrities and it’s not weird at all. Kurt’s really surprised about how this changes absolutely nothing in their relationship. It’s the first time the sexuality of someone he knows hasn’t seemed like such a big deal. He thinks he might be growing as a person until he walks in on Lawrence being straddled by a buff, tanned, _very male_ stranger and freaks the fuck out. 

“I’m bi,” Lawrence says calmly when Kurt reluctantly enters their room at curfew. 

“Oh,” is all Kurt can come up with. It takes him a while to get used to, but he can at least tell that it’s real with Lawrence and not just naivety and cluelessness as with Blaine.

* * *

 

So apparently Kurt’s not sexy. It’s a huge blow to his confidence and suddenly performing, even just swaying in the background of Warbler numbers, is a challenge. His first, and most likely last, solo and he _blew_ it because he’s about as sexy as a baby penguin. And then Blaine’s over to practice sexy faces and his absolute lack of knowledge about anything sex related comes out. Blaine’s surprised of course, because Kurt’s always been able to bluff his way through with what he’s heard in the locker rooms, like the jokes that always made Blaine blush. It’s easy when it’s not personal, when it’s not about _him_ and _sex_ and the both together. Still, he’s kind of a daddy’s boy so he reads through the pamphlets – painfully, so painfully – and now knows much more than he ever wanted to know about… _intercourse_. It’s not like he’s never… _pleasured_ himself before – after all he does have a stack of muscle mags from April locked away safely in the bottom drawer of his vanity. It’s just that, even his…less than dry dreams have never involved _sex_ or anything like that. Mostly just hot guys singing Broadway songs and having epic romances – normal stuff. Or at least Kurt has thought it was normal. 

Kurt realizes that as much as he really, truly doesn't  _want_ to, he _needs_ to talk to someone. Definitely not his dad because although he now knows he can come to his dad for this stuff, it seems more like a teenage boy problem that needs to discussed with another teenage boy. He also rules out Blaine because he has no desire to deal with the boy’s condescension _again_ over this topic. Blaine already made him feel like utter _shit_ for his lack of sexiness and general ignorance about all things sex and Kurt’s not looking forward to it happening again, ever. The next logical choice would be one of the New Direction guys because they’re family and this kind of humiliation is best kept within the family. But Kurt would rather not have this conversation with anyone that used to bully him, passively or aggressively, which is sadly more than half of the glee guys. Artie is the closest male friend Kurt ever had at McKinley and he really  doesn't want to ruin that with a case of the awkward and as much as Sam goes on about being “Down with the rainbow” they don’t know each other well enough for this. 

That really only leaves him with one option and Lawrence is more of a brother to him than Finn is anyway – at least _he_ enjoys it when Kurt brings him warm milk. Besides, after  you've seen a guy’s morning wood (mostly on Lawrence’s part), seen each other nude (it happens when you share a bathroom) and have seen him being straddled by another half-naked guy (again Lawrence), you’re kind of past being uncomfortable about _anything_ (Lawrence once asked Kurt how to get a growth off his back, there are no lines _left_ to cross). 

So here’s how it happens: it’s lights out and they’re both tucked up in their respective beds, Kurt can tell from the heaviness of Lawrence’s breathing that he’s not asleep yet but he soon will be; it’s now or, well, not _never_ , but now would certainly be preferable. 

“So…” Kurt starts off very eloquently. Lawrence’s answering grunt is not much better. “…How ‘bout them Raiders?”

The shuffling of covers ceases and there’s a beat of silence. When Kurt dares to glance over to the other side of the room he finds Lawrence giving him the most suspicious look a half-asleep boy can muster. 

“D’you ev’n know what spor’ you jus’ ref’renced?” Lawrence slurs, propping himself up on a bony elbow. 

“I have a strong feeling it’s football,” Kurt offers. 

Lawrence sighs deeply and drags a hand across his tired face. When he speaks again, his sleepy slur is gone, but irritation colours his voice. “Okay, what’s up? And skip the bush-beating ‘cause I have practice at fucking five and I can’t deal with any bullshit right now.” 

Kurt shrinks back into the covers. “You’re right, sorry, I’m just being selfish. You should get to sleep.” 

Lawrence curses under his breath. “’M sorry Kurt. You know I’m a right bitch the night before morning practice. Talk to me, I wanna help. _Really_.” 

“Sex!” Kurt blurts out, not wanting to give himself a chance to chicken out. 

There’s a long silence. 

“Sweet Zombie Jesus. You want me to give you the _sex talk_?” 

Kurt’s grateful that his fire-engine coloured face is safely hidden under a cover of darkness. “I…I know the mechanics of it. It’ just…hand holding I can get,” Kurt thinks about fingertips grazing each other mid-song, “Even kissing,” he thinks about Carol and his dad’s morning kisses and Sam and Quinn’s chaste kisses and walking in on Finn and Rachel during a make out session, but a memory of harsh hands, forceful lips and locker slams barges to the forefront of his mind, “…kind of. But everything passed that? I don’t really get how it could possibly be…enjoyable.” 

More silence, Kurt takes it as a cue to continue. 

“I mean…sex is scary and it can hurt really easily. Actually, it’s so easy to get hurt in day-to-day stuff,” locker slams, dumpster diving, “shouldn't  _something_ be sacred? And…and as far as I can tell, it’s a lot about giving up control, which is kind of…” terrifying, “unsettling. Someone else controlling you, _having power over you_ ; can’t they just as easily hurt you?” 

Kurt doesn't really know where all of this is coming from. The words are just pouring out of him, out of some dark place inside of him that he didn't even know about. 

Lawrence is still frustratingly quiet and Kurt’s starting to think he’s fallen back to sleep. He can feel the tell-tale sting of tears of frustration building up behind the hollows of his eyes. After working up the courage to do this and revealing more than he really wanted to, he’s just going to have to do it again tomorrow to a _conscious_ Lawrence? But then the bed across the room creaks noisily and heavy footsteps thud over to his own bed and suddenly there’s a very tall and very large figure lumbering above him and a hand reaching down at him and Kurt can’t help but flinch back, whimpering. Instead of the blow he’s expecting, he feels a familiar hand carding through his hair and he relaxes into it instinctually – Lawrence is the only one other than his father and Mercedes to be privy to the knowledge that although Kurt’s hair is off limits during the day, it’s a free-for-all between curfew and wake-up call and Lawrence just loves to take advantage of it. 

“Someone hurt you,” Lawrence says. The non-question is laced with so much anger that Kurt can’t help but wince, though he’s quickly calmed down by a rub behind his ear. “Kurt, you have to know it’s not always like that. When you want it…it feels really good. All of it. But only when you _want_ it.” 

And Kurt does know that – at least in theory – but somehow it’s so much more reassuring to hear it said out loud by someone he _trusts_. 

“Thanks Lawrence. I really needed that,” he says, aiming a smile up at where he thinks his roommate’s head is. 

“You’re welcome. Now scoot.” 

Kurt does so bemusedly. “What do y-“

Lawrence shushes him, crawling under the covers beside him. “Wow, these are nice sheets,” he gushes once he’s settled in. 

“It’s all in the thread count,” Kurt says, “But _what_ exactly do you think you’re doing?” 

“Does this feel nice?” Lawrence says instead of answering the damn question. Kurt opens his mouth to fire out some scathing reply, but Lawrence shushes him again. “Think about it and give me a proper answer,” he says. 

So Kurt thinks about it. He lies there encompassed by his clean, comfortable sheets and feels warmer than usual. There’s another body beside him, another person beside him, closer than he’s ever let anybody – outside of his immediate family – before. They’re not touching, not even the slightest brush of _skin against skin_ , but somehow Lawrence’s presence is almost tangible. It’s comforting. It’s…nice. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles into his pillow, his cheeks a renewed red, “Yeah, it is.” 

“Okay,” Lawrence breathes, “That’s a start.” 

Even with another boy _willingly_ sharing a bed with him, Kurt’s mind can’t help but drudge up old, and not-so old memories: Finn and the basement, Sam and the duet, Blaine and the… _everything_. 

“What if…what if no one ever wants _me_?” he whispers into the dark, not sure if he even wants Lawrence to hear. 

A warm arm wraps around his side, pulling him against an even warmer body. “Yer aw’some, Kur’. Somebody’ll finally op’n their eyes ‘n see,” Lawrence tells him with a loud yawn. 

Karofsky and the locker room. 

Kurt shuts his eyes, but still feels a tear escape and trail down his cheek. “What if I don’t want that somebody to want me?” 

The arm tightens around him and then relaxes. 

“Then we’ll find someone bett’r. Y’don’ have to settle. Nev’r.”

* * *

 

 

Kurt really doesn't have time for this. 

“I really don’t have time for this,” he tells Terry, “Midterms are coming up, in case you didn't notice.” 

Terry scoffs. “I wish I could ignore it. Brian mutters his entire fact-sheet on the Civil War in his sleep. The rare times I manage to catch some Z’s I always have ol’ honest Abe invading my dreams. It can get pretty awkward.” 

Kurt’s wondering just what kind of dreams Mr. Lincoln’s been interrupting when Terry grabs his arm and all but drags him across campus. 

“Besides,” Terry drawls, “Midterms makes for perfect prank timing. Everyone’s chained themselves to the library, so there’s no one around to notice if we do anything.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes and yanks his arm out of Terry’s grip, taking care to straighten out the wrinkles in his blazer. “What’s the point of a prank that no one will notice?” he asks. 

“Dude, _trust me_ , they’ll notice,” Terry says with a devious smirk, finally stopping his rushed pace. 

“Don’t call m- Oh no,” Kurt says as soon as he realizes just where they've stopped, “No way, we are not messing with the _school fountain_! Why do all your pranks have to involve water anyway? And after you dyed the pool florescent pink before the big championship (I’m still surprised they  didn't revoke your captaincy) shouldn't you be laying low? Messing with the school fountain is _not_ laying low. It’s the _opposite_ of laying low!” 

Terry waits out Kurt’s little bout of hysteria with learned patience. “Are you done? Okay. First of all, the pool wasn't all me. We both know that I wanted to make it yellow-" 

“That would have totally clashed with the tiles! Besides, _yellow_ water? That’s just disgusting. We wanted to shock people, not make them lose their lunches.” 

“- _Second of all,_ you know you want to. Mess up Dalton’s pretentious fountain that has been here since the school’s opening and was built by Henry Dalton himself and _blah, blah, blah_. Everyone knows they hired cheap Chinese labourers and paid them next to nothing to build this entire fucking school and that more than a few of them got shipped right back to China to starve as soon as they were done. You hate all this _bullshit_ and you know you love screwing with Dalton.” 

Kurt crossed his arms, annoyed. He really did hate all of the airs that _Dalton Academy School for Young Gentlemen_ put on: honoured this, tradition that. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he mutters. 

Terry shoots him a cheesy grin and swings his backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground. He unzips it and looks and Kurt expectantly. 

“…Please tell me that’s not cocaine.” 

Terry chokes on a laugh. “N-No. Relax, it’s just soap.” 

“Soap,” Kurt quirks a brow, “That’s a lot of soap. Enough to last the cleaning staff an entire year.” 

“Yeah,” Terry agrees before dumping all of its contents in the marble fountain. “Let’s jet,” he cries, grabbing Kurt by the arm again and taking off. 

“Wh-What was my purpose in all of this?” Kurt pants as they go, wondering if his hairspray has enough hold to stand against all of this _running_. 

“You’re like my little sidekick,” Terry says, “Every hero needs a sidekick.” 

“Saving Dalton from another boring day?” 

“You know it.”

* * *

 

 

Kurt had pretty much given up on romance at this point. So he’s not expecting it at all when Jean meets him outside of detention with an earnest smile. 

He nods a goodbye to Terry, who slaps him on the back, before walking up to Jean. “Hi, I didn't expect to see you here,” he says. He starts to make his way back to the dorms, expecting Jean to fall into step, but the other boy stops him with a soft touch to his hand. Kurt glances between their joined hands and Jean’s face, but Jean doesn't let go. 

They’re standing there, practically holding hands in the hallway, and Kurt can feel a pleasant tingle work its way up his arm. He’s not sure what to make of this, what to make of Jean who’s looking nervous for the first time since Kurt has met him. 

“Is…something wrong?” he asks carefully. 

Jean shifts uncomfortably before taking a deep breath. “Okay, I’m not really sure how to do this.” He stops, shifts again and restarts. “I’ve done this before, but it’s different; _you’re_ different… _merde_.” Jean is very good at hiding his French accent, but it’s becoming more and more pronounced as he becomes visibly flustered. 

Kurt’s a little taken aback because he’s seen Jean flirt outrageously and shamelessly to get them out of parking tickets, restaurant bills and all sorts of other things. He’s the epitome of French charm. 

_ “Tu veux qu’on sorte?”  _

Kurt almost jerks his hand out of Jean’s. _“Excusé moi?”_

Jean removes his hand and lets it hang a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure what to do with it. “We could go to dinner, if you want?” 

Kurt’s thinks he’s gone into shock. “L-Like a date?” he says, stalling for time so he can get his thoughts straight. 

Jean nods brusquely. “Like a date,” he confirms. 

Blinking rapidly, Kurt tries to take in the situation. He’s never thought of Jean in that way, despite knowing he’s gay, because…well he’s not sure why. Jean’s gorgeous: tall and lean and well groomed without the use of any product past aftershave. He’s sporty and funny and intelligent and willingly tags along on Kurt’s shopping trips, which not even Blaine who worships at the shrine of Vogue will do and Jean doesn't even _like_ fashion and, _wow_ , that should have been his first clue. 

And he looks really cute right now, a red flush to his cheeks bringing out his green eyes. 

“Okay,” Kurt says. Because a cute boy that he likes and gets along with is actually asking him out and why would he say no? 

Jean’s eyes widen. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Kurt repeats, taking Jean’s hand back into his own. 

And that’s that. They go out on three perfect dates and Kurt finds that he really likes Jean, _in that way_. They hit a little bump on the fifth day when Jean finally tries to kiss him and Kurt has an inconvenient flashback, but Jean’s very understanding. He’s also very angry on Kurt’s behalf and Kurt has to talk him out of going to McKinley to ‘defend his honor’, but it’s nice to have someone willing to fight _for_ him and who  doesn't try to humanize his bullies because that’s not what Kurt needs right now. Intellectually he realizes that Karofsky’s just scared and Kurt pities him, but he likes having someone unequivocally in his corner. 

Being with Jean is…easy. They go out at least once a week, they walk each other to classes, they hold hands on top of the cafeteria tables for everyone to see and they see how far they can push their luck on Dalton’s strict PDA rules. Kurt meets Jean’s friends and Jean meets Kurt’s friends and they all get along really well though Blaine’s been really quiet lately and Jean’s friend Justin gets Kurt’s humor as well as the Warblers do, which is to say _not at all_. 

Kurt’s confused and worried and more than a little frustrated because this is nothing like the relationships he’s witnessed in his many years of pining and longing for a teenage romance. It culminates to their first real fight, both yelling at each other from opposite sides of Jean’s dorm room. 

“What are we even doing?” Kurt shouts viciously, gesturing wildly between them, “Is this _thing_ even going anywhere?” 

“I thought this _thing_ was a serious relationship, but you’re acting about five years old right now!” Jean shouts back. 

“A serious relationship? Then where’s the baby drama and the cheating and the lies and the social politics and the love duets?” Kurt screams, his voice hoarse, fingers shaking. 

“What…what are you even _talking_ about?” Jean asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. He’s not yelling anymore, he’s not even angry now; neither of them is. “How do any of those things equate to a serious relationship?” he asks more calmly. He starts to cross over to Kurt, but Kurt turns around, straightening his shirt and brushing back his bangs, retreating behind his shields. 

Jean’s having none of that. “Hey, look at me,” he says, catching Kurt in his arms and turning him around so they’re face to face. 

“I don’t even know what I’m saying,” Kurt admits and it’s true. He has no idea what he’s saying and even less of an idea what he’s _doing_ , what _they’re_ doing. He tries to avoid Jean’s steady gaze, but the other boy cradles his chin and tips his head up until their eyes meet. 

_ “I’m scared.”  _

It’s a whisper of a confession and it takes Kurt a few minutes to realize that it came from _him_. 

“Why?” Jean asks simply, not looking away for a second. 

Why? 

Kurt’s eyes waver, as if looking for something, but all he finds in Jean is surety. Of what? Kurt doesn't know, but maybe it’s what he’s looking for. 

“I’m scared because it’s never been like this, because this isn't how it works where I come from. It’s not supposed to _work_ at all. I’m scared because this is different from what I was expecting, what I was mentally preparing myself for,” Kurt says softly. “I’m scared because…this _is_ a serious relationship,” he realizes and Jean smiles. 

They hold each other for a while, basking in the reassurance they find in each other. 

“So,” Jean muses, breaking their shared silence, “You want to sing a love song together?” 

Kurt ducks his head and blushes. “Shut up.” 

Jean does, for once, but a week later he bursts into the Warbler’s practice and breaks into a truly horrendous a cappella version of ‘My Heart Will Go On’. 

The Warbler’s sit with varying expressions of shock and horror. 

Kurt just laughs and joins in, making good use of his new harmonizing skills. 

Later he teases Jean about the cheesy song choice, but Jean just says that he wanted to do a Celine song since she’s “sort of French and is special to you”.

* * *

 

So apparently the Warblers don’t hate Kurt anymore. 

“You’re a breath of fresh air,” Blaine says, “They appreciate it.” 

“You’re like the annoying kid brother that we want to lock in a closet, but that we still love,” David says. 

Kurt considers being insulted but decides to take what he can get. “Why David, was there a gay joke hidden in there?” he says instead and David actually _laughs_ at that. It’s a bit spluttered out, like he  wasn't expecting it and afterwards he tries to act as if he didn't burst into undignified giggles, but it’s something. 

Wes doesn't say anything, but the ‘council’ commends Kurt on taking good care of Pavarotti, so Kurt counts it as a win. 

Blaine coughs into his fist and Kurt shoots him a glare _daring_ him to ruin this. Sure, Kurt spent the first few weeks trying to make Pavarotti live off of glitter and water, but he eventually gave up when it was obvious it  wasn't working and settled for bedazzling the cage. What the council doesn't know won’t hurt them. 

Kurt finds he actually likes the little creature: he’s cute and the old fashioned bird cage adds quite nicely to his room décor. Pavarotti also makes for a wonderful duet partner, always joining in when Kurt starts singing and his apparent preference for show tunes was enough to win Kurt over for good. 

“You've brainwashed him,” Blaine had said when Pavarotti has started screeching at the sound of Katy Perry. 

When he gets an actual, honest to Gaga solo – not just a little insert in _Blaine’s_ solo – it takes every ounce of restraint in Kurt’s lithe body to stop from jumping for joy. 

He thanks the room cordially and silently vows to call Mercedes the moment practice lets out so he can squeal for a few hours. 

Blaine, Flint and Thad take him out for a celebratory coffee and everything is almost perfect. 

Jean holds his hand while he Skypes with New Directions and everything _is_ perfect.

* * *

 

 

It’s Kurt’s birthday and it starts off a little sad because it’s a weekday and so he doesn't get to see his dad, but the phone call at what Lawrence would call an ‘obscene’ hour almost makes up for it. Finn’s confused, bleary greeting is both amusing and endearing. 

School is…strange. Everyone just seems to _know_ and both teachers and students alike wish him happy birthday throughout the day. It’s a little embarrassing, but for the life of him Kurt can’t stop smiling. 

He’s wasn't expecting this. 

Dalton is definitely different from McKinley and he’s still not used to it. 

Jean takes him out to a romantic dinner and by the time they get back to school it’s already been the best birthday Kurt’s ever had, but for some reason Jean is taking him to the common room rather than the dorms. 

“Jean, what’s-" 

“SURPRISE!” 

There are balloons and streamers and even a cake and the colour scheme is all over the place, but Kurt doesn't even care because _everyone’s_ here! 

Lawrence and Terry and Blaine. Warblers, football players, Swimmers, Theatre kids, GSA members: _everyone_. 

But even more surprising – 

“Mercedes! Finn! Rachel! Britt, Quinn, everyone! You’re here!” 

He practically throws himself at his second family, but they catch him just like he knew they would. 

“We asked permission from the Dean to have them all over here,” Wes explains and he’s actually _smiling_ , “It took a little convincing, but the Warblers have a certain amount of pull. We invited your parents as well but…” 

“Burt said you’d freak if he was surrounded by a bunch of excitable teenagers with his heart,” Finn says in what is obviously a direct quote. 

“Damn right I would,” Kurt agrees and he would be a touch disappointed if he wasn't so damn _happy_ that there  wasn't any room for it. 

Dalton is different from McKinley and Kurt doesn't know if he’ll ever get used to it, if he’ll even have the time to get used to it, because he knows it won’t last forever. 

Sooner or later he’s going to return to McKinley. It’s a fact. He doesn't know if the circumstances around the eventual transfer will be happy or sad, but he knows it will happen. 

And when it does, Kurt’s going to miss his Dalton family as much as he missed New Directions – of this he’s sure. 

Until then, well, he’s got Puck whispering about some natty light hidden in his trunk on one side and Jean holding his hand tightly on the other and he’s going to enjoy having the best of both worlds for now. 

Dalton is different from McKinley, Kurt knew that from the very beginning, but as he kicks both Artie’s and Mike’s collective asses at Halo with all of New Directions looking on in shock and all of the Dalton boys cheering him on, he thinks that maybe he’s a little different now too. 

And it’s not a bad thing. Not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Jean holds some striking similarities to Sebastian Warbler Smythe, but I swear that Jean existed before Sebastian was even a twinkle in RIB's eyes. Further evidence that RIB steal new ideas for Glee from fanfic, as far as I'm concerned.


End file.
